


Leave A Tender Moment Alone

by Phiso



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Everybody Lies challenge, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave A Tender Moment Alone

**Author's Note:**

> For the Everybody Lies Challenge on LJ's house_wilson

****This was a boring convention.

This was a boring convention filled by a sea of boring people talking about boring things that no one really cared about except other boring people.

He wanted to shoot someone. Or take some shots; either would work. Both would have the desired effect of making the boring somewhat less boring. The former, though, would come with the additional issue of forcing him to interact with idiots, which, while not boring, had the potential to be extremely irritating. House was not universally known as the police officer’s best friend.

Settling for the latter, as his liver was up to the challenge, House ordered another drink: a good double shot of scotch, no ice and of the highest quality they offered. If he was going to buzz himself out of his boredom, it would at least be a delicious journey. The bartender was quick and efficient; no sooner had the words left his lips was the scotch was taking its turn. It went down smooth and easy and with just the right amount of burn. This would be a decent night, he mused, so long as he kept these up.

His gaze wandered, surveying his fellow patrons with ill-disguised contempt. How they ever became doctors was beyond him. They were all so bland, so vanilla, so caught-up in their nice little social obligations, enduring one moronic conversation after another –

“Could you please stop?”

The blue eyes settled.

“What’d you say?”

“It’s just – you – you’ve played this song four times already.”

“So? Why the hell do you care?”

House, too, had noticed the frankly insipid music - _Leave A Tender Moment Alone_ was not one of Billy Joel’s better songs - playing on loop for the past sixteen minutes, but he hadn’t cared enough to actually bother saying something about it. Let the idiot waste his money.

But someone else, apparently, couldn’t take it anymore. And it wasn’t even someone House would have expected to speak up, either – it was some young pretty doctor, his hair perfectly combed, his tie perfectly tied. House had seen him around the convention, nodding, smiling, shaking people’s hands. Even now, with the convention over and the need to keep up appearances gone, his pants remained neatly creased and his shirt was still tucked in. House’s brow furrowed in thought. Why the hell was this guy even in a bar? He looked like he would be the type to just suck up anything until it went away to avoid being rude. That’s pretty much what it looked like he was doing before.

His eyes fell from the stranger’s face to the package held securely under the his arm on the bar.

Hm.

“Because – well," the pretty doctor continued slowly, the drink in his hand accenting his gesticulations, "because some of us might enjoy some musical variety, here.”

House leaned forward. This was getting interesting.

“Yeah, well, then you can wait your turn and pay for it.”

“Look, sir, I just – I’m asking politely, could you pick another - ”

And then the quarter went in, the song began to play, and suddenly everything went delightfully to hell.

  
\-----

  
“Get up, Wilson.”

“Why are you doing this?” the man asked wearily, his brown eyes almost too tired to be cautious. He looked like a kicked puppy, defeated and floppy and rather unsure of the man called master. His tie was off-kilter now, his pants all wrinkled; a spectacular bruise was blossoming across his left cheek. That bar fight and jail cell had ruined his preppy straight-laced look and replaced it with something somehow darker, more on edge.

House preferred him this way.

“Because,” he replied, stepping away from the cell door. “You’re interesting.”

The other man blinked, obviously confused. “Interesting?”

“Why the fight?” House continued, leading the way out. Wilson followed him, bemused. “It was just a song. Granted, it was a bad song, but I didn’t think it warranted throwing a glass into an antique mirror.”

The doctor groaned, dropping his face into a hand. “I’m going to have to pay for that…”

“Looked expensive,” House added. The pretty doctor sighed.

Once they got to the desk, there was a brief silence in which the former inmate signed some papers and claimed his package. Just as he was signing the last page, Wilson paused.

“How did you know my name?” he asked, giving House a sidelong glance. “You had to bail me out somehow, and I don’t think they would have let you if you hadn’t known my name.”

The doctor fished into his moment and pulled out a lanyard, the laminated nametag glistening under the light and JAMES E. WILSON, ONCOLOGIST printed neatly on the front. It had been dropped during the fight.

Wilson sighed. “Do I get to know yours?”

House turned to leave, motioning for Wilson to follow. “Gregory House,” he answered as he pushed open the door.

“So, House,” Wilson ventured, “you didn’t really answer my question - ”

“You have a meeting with a lawyer in about half an hour, so you might want to change,” House interrupted him, calling a cab. “And I ran out of cash, so you’re going to have to pay the way back to the hotel.”

Wilson stared at him, speechless.

“And you didn’t answer _my_ question,” House continued. “Why the fight?”

The other’s mouth open and closed twice before finally managing, “My dog died.”

“That’s supposed to explain your hatred for Billy Joel?”

There was a half-hearted shrug. “Like you said before, it’s a bad song.”

House scrutinized the other doctor, noting with interest the way his hand instinctively tightened its clutch on what he deduced were divorce papers, if the return address meant anything. He knew the answer already. But the answer given was even more interesting.

“Right,” House said with a nod, stepping towards the cab that had appeared for them. “And next you’re going to tell me you don’t keep a stash of German porn hidden away in a box somewhere.”

As House got into the cab and caught a glimpse of the look on Wilson’s face, he knew instinctively that this investment would be worth it.


End file.
